Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Rivals and Partners

I had to laugh over this post about talking too much or asking too many questions. Sometimes it's better if you don't know all the answers. Case in point: I was a freshman and went to a football game versus our worst rivals. Had to go to the restroom. The urinal was a long trough on the wall. A guy was already there, standing at one end of urinal. I went to the other end. Right away I picked up the signs that he was hiding a boner and giving it an occasional little squeeze, maybe waiting for me to leave. That got my prick hard too. You know how these things work out. Soon two boys, complete strangers, were having a little wank party in total silence. Never saying a word but in total synch with what was happening at opposite ends of the urinal.

When we finished our project (including waiting for other guys to come in and out) he asked me whose home room I was in. I told him. He gave me a funny look and said "You must be from North Side!" That was the name of our school. "Yeah, aren't you?" I asked. He goes "No! Eisenhower!"

If we had known that we were from opposite schools on night of the biggest game of the season, we would have been deadly enemies, at best dissing each other and at worst maybe throwing punches. Certainly not masturbating in front of each other like the little 14-year-old trigger-happy jackers that we were. But thanks to our ignorance we enjoyed an unexpected wank together and ended up afterwards laughing instead of fighting. 


Anonymous

Monday, October 27, 2014

Talks A-Lot Jacker

Little change of topic.

I had certain buddies that liked to talk while we jacked off. Is that normal?

 Me personally, I felt like it was a time to keep our mouths shut while working on our rods.

 In particular, this one guy that I met at a summer camp asked a lot of questions while we pounded ourselves. He wanted to know how old did I first cum, did I do it with other guys before him, was I ever caught doing it, did I like to pee outside, did I ever screw a girl, etc. etc. He could not shut up.

I didn't like all the talking, just wanted us to jerk together and get off a shot. Would of liked him better if he didn't talk so much.

Anonymous

Sunday, October 26, 2014

More Maladies on Having "MORE"

Golf Ball Pockets
 These last few stories remind me of a friend from High School in the 70's, we'll call him Jim. We never had gym class together, and never had any affection towards one another. But back before spandex, there was leather pants. They were as visually unforgiving as spandex. if you had it to flaunt, then leather was the thing to wear. If not, it was only an embarrassment.....

 Jim knew what he had and was eager to slip on his leather pants and show off his three, yes 3, balls. His cock wasn't anything much different than other guys, but when he wore those pants, it looked like has was carrying golf balls in his pockets. I just wander to this day, if he would have let me have fun with them.


Anonymous 1


It Doesn't fit well in Pants
 I had a friend in HS who had a really big cock. He seemed totally straight and I acted that way too. but one day I did tell him I wished I was hung as big as he was. He told me it was much more of a burden than a benefit. We were both at the age where we were trying to get girls to do sexy things with (or to) us, and he said the three girls he had in his life tried to make out with were all unable to get any more than the very tip in their mouth, so he had been totally unsuccessful at getting any oral action. And, he told me his doesn't fit well in his pants, he had to keep adjusting it all the time, etc.

 He wished he was normal size. He never bragged about it, and I know he did take some kidding about it in the showers.

Anonymous 2

Saturday, October 25, 2014

If ya got it Show It

I've known two guys with unusually large dicks. I remember both of them as being a little flaky, talking about themselves in a way that the rest of us never would.

1. A boy I was in a year of gym with for my freshman year of high school. He was physically bigger than the rest of us and very muscular and sports-minded so his big dick seemed to go with the whole macho concept. But it seemed like he had to mention his dick a lot, kind of like he didn't want us to forget about it. He threatened guys that annoyed him by asking them, "How would you like to be whipped with a ten-inch cock?" 


2. A guy in in the dorm room across the hall at the university. His dick was just enormous, thick as well as long. He did not try to cover it up, either. Most of us wore at least underwear when walking to the communal restroom. This guy went down the hall totally naked with his big dick hanging down between his thighs. I think he was showing off on purpose. I saw him occasionally wearing boxers with the head of his dick hanging out at the bottom of one of the legs. He would sometimes talk about himself as if he had a handicap, using the word "oversexed." He said he'd tried to "make" a lot of girls through the years but they were all frightened by the size of his dick and therefore he had to resort to "solitary pleasure" to keep from getting blue balls. His roommate was real twinky which made people wonder about the two of them.

Anonymous 

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Man, you've got it bad!"



The story about the kid embarrassed about his big Dick, reminds me of an incident of my own.

 A friend and I went to the swimming pool at the base where my father was stationed. I was 11. After swimming we were in the locker room drying off and getting ready to put our street clothes back on. Two big boys were there also. They were probably only about 14 but to a couple of fifth graders they were big enough to mean trouble if they wanted to pick on us.

One of them called to me: "Hey, kid! Turn around here!" I was completely naked and didn't want to turn. But I was also scared to refuse. The big guys looked at my crotch and started laughing. One of them told me "Man, you've got it bad!" They kept laughing while my friend and I hurried to get our clothes on.
What did I have "bad?" I didn't know. So I asked my friend after we left what that was all about.

"Maybe because your weenie is so big," he told me.

My weenie was big? That was a surprise. I'd never thought about the size of people's weenies. My friend let me compare with him, and sure enough, mine hung down a lot longer and thicker than his. But that wasn't all. He told me that instead of hanging down, mine was sticking straight out when the big boys noticed it. Sticking out? Another mystery.

Skip to a couple years later, seventh grade. I was having one of my first mutual peek-a-boo and feely-feely moments with a different friend. By then I was very much aware of my dick getting hard although I hadn't found out about jacking yet. I knew it was already stiff while I was working to get it out of my zipper. When the other guy saw my erect peter straining up from my fly he stared at it and said, "That's huge!"

I thought maybe I was a freak because of having a big penis. But by the time I was in high school PE I was no larger than anybody else. My dick must have simply begun growing earlier than other guys my age.

As for having it "bad" at the swimming pool, the older guys apparently caught sight of a boner that I was too dumb to be aware of.

The Embarrassment of More



This might sound like I’m bragging, but actually the opposite. It’s about my embarrassment and almost humiliation about my body when I was in Jr. high.
 I started 7thgrade in 1983 and I had just turned 13 in August. This made me one of the older kids in the class by the way the town worked it, so there were kids just barely 12 starting 7th grade as well. I never saw many boys my age naked up until then, and I knew I was going through puberty and that I had reasonable small amount of pubic already, but I was totally unprepared for my very first 7thgrade gym class and the mandatory showers after gym.
Changing into our gym clothes was okay because we could keep our underpants on. And like most everyone, I wore those tight white briefs at the time. But at the end of class we of course had to get completely naked to go to the showers. It was there that I immediately realized most of the other boys were staring at my cock, pointing at it, and even laughing. Then as I looked around, I realized my penis was substantially longer and bigger than everyone elses. And I don’t mean bigger because I was any further along in puberty, but just that my penis was in fact huge for anyone that age. Most of the boys, their penises didn’t even reach the bottom of their scrotums, let along hang 2" below it.  I don’t think there was any boy in there who was any longer than 3 inches, and most looked even shorter than that.
Very quickly, I was given the name “Dick”. Walking down the halls and into classrooms, boys and girls would look at me, point, and giggle. I’d get the occasional, “Hi, how’s in hangin’, Dick?” Then always followed by laughter. Many kids started to think  that was my real name. One kid called me at home, and asked my mom if he could speak with Dick. My mom told him he had the wrong number. Then he called right back. I heard her, and I quickly grabbed the phone and told her it was for me. Then I had to try to explain to her why this boy called me Dick. I lied. I made something up.
 By 9th grade, it was almost 6 inches soft and 9 inches erect. I was a whole 5’6” tall and weighed about 130 lbs. But I reckon I had a penis that could have done porno films.  When I got spontaneous erections it would not easily fit inside my underpants. I had to bend it up to the left so it would fit fully in my underpants. It was very uncomfortable.
By 10th grade my reputation helped me get a lot of fun action with both girls and (secretly) with some boys too.  But junior high was an almost daily humiliation for me because of the jokes, pointing, etc. 
 Anonymous

Sunday, October 19, 2014

7th Grade Humor

This one I first heard in 7th grade, and I never forgot it:

Walkin' down Canal Street lookin' for a whore,
Walkin' down Canal Street knockin' on every door.
Finally I found one. She was tall and thin.
I pushed and pushed and pushed but I couldn't get it in!
Finally I got it in and wiggled it about. Now I was darned if I could get it out!
Finally I got it out. It was red and sore,
Now I've learned my lesson,
NEVER FUCK A WHORE!

Okay...I was 12 years old. I knew about sex, but...was it possible to get your penis STUCK in a girl's pussy???

OMG, "Red and sore"...Do I really ever want to do that with a girl??

How can you tell if a girl is a "whore"? (And, what exactly IS a whore, anyway??)

I laughed at this little limerick, even though I not only didn't understand it, but I thought it was a truthful story!

Ah, the innocence of 7th grade! 

Friday, October 17, 2014

What Good Friends We Were

My first private stuff was with one of my cousins, not my brother. I was at least twelve, maybe thirteen, but a slow bloomer (did not make cum until fourteen). My favorite cousin, that I liked better than my brother, was about a year older. We were very good buddies as little guys and spent a lot of nights sleeping in the same bed naked and touching things we shouldn't. He asked me one day if he could do something nice for me that only very good friends did. Then telling me how secret it was, and never to tell anybody.

We went behind my granddad's shop behind the trees and bushes. My cousin had me stand with my back to the shop. He said now to unzip my pants and get my dick out. As soon as I did, he got down on his knees and took my dick in his mouth for just a second. He wanted to know if it felt good. Then said he would do it some more to show what good friends we were. I didn't know about cum yet but it did feel good in a very peculiar way, maybe just from the warmth of his mouth and how stiff I would get. 

While he knelt on the ground sucking me he opened his fly and got his own dick which stuck out real stiff. Then I could see him using his hand to play with it. Before long he quit sucking me and said he hoped I liked it because it proved what good friends we were.

After that he would blow me every time we saw each other, usually going behind the shop. He always played with his dick while sucking me. I would watch his hand go back and forth on his dick. Soon he squirted some white stuff onto the ground. As soon as the white stuff came out he quit blowing me.



I got BJ's from him for about a year. My dick would stay hard after he quit. I think I was getting close to cumming but he jacked himself off so quick that I never reached a climax. After one of those jobs I went to the bathroom and played with myself because I was so hard. That's when I found out what it was all about.

After I started jacking off we would take turns feeling each other's boners and then pump at the same time. He never wanted to blow me after I started making cum because he said the stuff might be poisonous. He had the idea we ought to find another boy for him to suck while we jacked off, but we were afraid to try. 

Monday, October 13, 2014

Some Kind of Brothers

A reader introduces a possible discussion topic for us. It might bring home some thoughts or memories, for some  of us?
E


Several months ago some of the guys exchanged comments about brothers in regard to a previous story.

 One person felt that sexuality between brothers triggers an "incest" alarm in most boys. Apart from that, some older brothers might feel an obligation to keep their sexual development private. Many other factors would be involved in this issue, such as possible guilt, vulnerability of the younger boy, and the level of friendship/closeness between the brothers.

 The odds for shared sexual progression  between brothers would therefore be highly variable from case to case depending on all these factors and many more. 3-1/2 years of age difference would certainly be a possible deterrent. 

Anonymous

Friday, October 10, 2014

Lame Dirty Jokes of Seventh Grade


The Lame Dirty Jokes of Seventh Grade

Entering seventh grade was the moment when a bunch of my friends changed from good boys to dirty-minded boys overnight. I was still innocent both sexually and intellectually. Anything that wasn't nice embarrassed me. That meant I was fair game for the others. Strangely, thinking back on the jokes, all of them were completely lame.

I remember one that left me speechless because I thought it was so nasty, but it was just stupid. They did it like this: A couple of guys walked up to me when I was sitting at a library table with some friends. One of them asked, "Have you met Joe, the invisible man?" I didn't want to be bothered but they kept pestering me about the invisible man, finally telling me to shake hands with him. So I reached out with a hand at the proper height for shaking and "shook" with the invisible man. The other guys roared with laughter. "Joe's nine feet tall," they told me. "You didn't shake his hand, you grabbed his dick and jacked him off."

See? Stupid. But the guys were gasping for breath due to laughing so hard, and I was embarrassed about being told in front of my friends that I'd grabbed the invisible man's dick (the jacking-off part meant nothing to me).

Another time I was busy looking for something in my locker when a guy came up next to me and asked me if I'd ever heard of Elvis Presley. Of course I had. "Well, do you know what his nickname was?" After a little prompting I figured out the answer and told him "Elvis the Pelvis." Right, the guy said. "So what would his nickname be if he had been named Enos instead of Elvis?" I was about to reply with the rhyming couplet when I realized that if I answered I would be saying something that sounded like "Enos the Penis." "Answer it yourself," I told him, and of course I was the butt of laughter again and my tormenter had to go tell everybody else that I almost said "penis" but chickened out.

One more, which was really cruel because I didn't know what I'd been tricked into doing: In science class somebody handed me a test tube and told me to warm it up. There were no burners out and I asked how I was supposed to warm the tube. "Turn it upside down," they told me. "Hold the open end against the table. Put your other hand around it and move your hand up and down all the time. The friction will warm it." So there I was, too dumb to know what I was doing, "masturbating" a test tube. And of course one of the guys stuck his hand up in the air and waved it around, shouting "Mr. Brumley! Mr. Brumley! Look what this dork's doing!"

It's a wonder I didn't die of embarrassment in seventh grade.

Anonymous

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Brotherhood of the Wank

Let me chime in on the brother thing from a different angle. There is a family in our block with two young boys who are eighteen months apart in age, both pre-teens. It's sort of a fun laboratory for watching boys grow up. The older boy has his mother's coloring - fair skin and black hair. He is the obedient, helpful and gentle brother, always reading and ready to talk to an adult. His brother has got the dad's somewhat Mediterranean skin plus absolutely blond hair. He's been a rebel since birth. If there's a way to break a rule, the young one will find it. He's athletic, rowdy, all male and then some. Smaller and more compact that big bro, but already more muscular and competitive. He mastered his bike while big brother was still using training wheels.


I have a private bet with "myself". I'll never settle it of course because there's no way for me to learn the outcome - and let's face it...... It's none of my business.

But here it is: I'm betting that in a few years from now, the young one will be the first of the brothers to discover his body in the time-honored way of boys - before the older one ever thinks of such things. He may even initiate his own big bro into the Brotherhood Of The Wank.

Anonymous

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Puberty for Boys and the Secrets of Brothers

A follow up story by the Author of  Over the Rail Dare

 I can't believe I'm writing again, but I'll try to answer some of your questions. It's a particularly interesting time for me now, since I have two boys of my own, ages 12 and 10. I'm wondering if my boys will secretly do things like me and my brother had done when they get to be that age. (My brother now has three kids, a son and two daughters. His boy is also 10, just like my younger son. His girls are both younger.)

 When I started masturbating I kept everything extremely secret from my brother. So much so, I suppose, that one day when he was about 12 1/2 he came into my room looking all afraid and worried and said to me, "Something happened to me in bed last night. If I tell you, promise you won't tell Mom and Dad?" I told him I'd keep secret whatever he wanted to tell me, and then all he said was that the night before, he was lying in his bed, and "all of a sudden I started pissing all over myself and I couldn't make it stop!" I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about, and I was able to explain it all to him and tell him it was okay, and I even told him that it happens to me, too. That started a new phase of our relationship as brothers, and masturbating seemed to become the big fascination and obsession of all my brother's days. He wanted to have "races" with me and competitions, like "squirting the farthest", etc.

 I hope this helps explain why it was no great stretch, just a few months later, my little brother was so excited to do nudity and masturbation-related challenges while we were at this big, fancy resort, sleeping in our own room together. 


Anonymous

Boys and Secret Things

A follow up story by the Author of  Over the Rail Dare

I can't believe I'm writing again, but I'll try to answer some of your questions. It's a particularly interesting time for me now, since I have two boys of my own, ages 12 and 10. I'm wondering if my boys will secretly do things like me and my brother had done when they get to be that age. (My brother now has three kids, a son and two daughters. His boy is also 10, just like my younger son. His girls are both younger.)

When I started masturbating I kept everything extremely secret from my brother. So much so, I suppose, that one day when he was about 12 1/2 he came into my room looking all afraid and worried and said to me, "Something happened to me in bed last night. If I tell you, promise you won't tell Mom and Dad?" I told him I'd keep secret whatever he wanted to tell me, and then all he said was that the night before, he was lying in his bed, and "all of a sudden I started pissing all over myself and I couldn't make it stop!" I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about, and I was able to explain it all to him and tell him it was okay, and I even told him that it happens to me, too. That started a new phase of our relationship as brothers, and masturbating seemed to become the big fascination and obsession of all my brother's days. He wanted to have "races" with me and competitions, like "squirting the farthest", etc.
I hope this helps explain why it was no great stretch, just a few months later, my little brother was so excited to do nudity and masturbation-related challenges while we were at this big, fancy resort, sleeping in our own room together. 


Anonymous

Over the Rail Dare

Here’s one more Disney story. It was February, 1991 and Disney's Beach Club Resort had just recently opened and that’s where our parents booked us to stay. I remember it was brand new, it even smelled new, and it was gorgeous. It was also the first vacation where our parents got a separate room for them, and another adjoining room just for me and my brother.

I was 15 and he was barely 13 at the time. He was thrilled that we had our own room, then I told him it was probably because “Mom and Dad want to screw and they don’t want us in the room". He was shocked and didn’t believe me that Mom and Dad actually did still have sex.

Anyway, this room had a balcony, and me and my brother kept daring each other to do more and more risky things when we were alone in our room at night. It went from running out on the balcony and pulling our pants down, to going on there completely naked, to going out there with a boner. Finally to top everything off, I dared him to go out there masturbate and letting a load fly over the railing. I was shocked he actually did it, and then of course I had to do it too. We each did it naked and crouched down next to the building until we got close, and then stood up, aimed our peters over the rail, and let our juices fly to wherever, down below. I don’t think they had a lot of security cameras back then. I sure hope not!

Anonymous

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Water Park Pair - Mission Accomplished




I've got a "good time at the park" story also. It was at Sea World.
I was sitting on the pot in a restroom near the wave pool and water slides and so forth. Two boys in swimsuits and flip-flops ran in, laughing and talking. They both entered a single stall right next to me. They were soaking wet, of course, and water dripped off their bodies and clothes, making a lake on the concrete floor. I could see the legs of the boy closest to me; he was standing near my partition to make room for his buddy. He dropped his trunks partway down, just enough for me to notice the hem of one leg and a dripping drawstring. Soon there was the sound of piss streaming into a toilet. The talking stopped while they concentrated on emptying their bladders. They were clearly good enough friends to urinate side-by-side in a shared stall. Judging from the strength of their streams they definitely had to "go." The piss continued a while at full-force and then gradually diminished. Soon they would be finished.

But once the waterworks were over, the dudes didn't leave. They remained standing in the closed stall while they exchanged some indistinct mumbles, nothing like their earlier conversation, sort of like,
"Hmm?" and "Mmm," but no actual words. 

And then the wet bathing suit of the closest boy started gradually sliding down his legs. The little sounds continued, nothing but soft.....

Hm? and Um? and Ooh. 

By now the tip of the drawstring was going around in fast little circles and the boy's legs seemed to be shaking. The suit kept sliding steadily toward the his feet. More mumbles. The wiggling string touched the floor and stopped swinging. The trunks continued their downward slide until they covered the kid's flip-flops. There was intense silence for another ten or fifteen seconds while neither boy made a sound. Suddenly the one near me rose onto his tiptoes. Somebody breathed,
 "Huuhh!"

Now both boys began giggling and horsing around in the cubicle, bumping against the partitions and apparently shoving each other back and forth. Then the guy close to me pulled his suit up and the two of them abandoned the restroom as fast as they could go.

I would say - Mission Accomplished. The only question is whether only the boy nearest me obtained relief while the other watched him, or whether they both enjoyed a mutual boyhood experience better than pissing together.

Anonymous

A Boys Tight Pants.



"Tights on a boy"........ From the story la Cage au Fous,  It reminds me when my generation all wore real tight skinny pants to school and everywhere. 

So tight that it was an effort to put your hand in your pocket. One of the guys that ran the pet shop in our neighborhood was swishy, dramatic, effeminate, you get the picture. We didn't know much and thought he was just funny. I went in there sometimes to play with the animals. One day he had me turn in circles so he could look at my new pants.
He gave me a little slap on the butt and said, 
"My Boy, those pants are so tight that you'll never get your crack open far enough to fart." I was about 11 and thought that was the funniest thing I'd ever heard.


Anonymous

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Daily Delight

Reading about the guy who took care of himself inside his dance tights this morning made me feel good all over. It was pure boy. It also gave me something to think about. He said he was "ashamed" afterwards because he thought everybody must have known what he was doing. But I would ask him if he doesn't look back on the experience today with a smile, and think of it as one of the happy memories of growing up.

I happen to have the day off and I've been sitting by the window, enjoying the breeze and pigeons and trees. And, thanks to the story about a dancer's boner ejaculating in a pair of tights, I've also been smiling - smiling about adolescent stiffies and some of my own boyhood happy days. Here's one of those times.

The summer I was 14 I had a brief window of an hour and a half each day when everybody else was gone and I was "home alone" completely by myself. I generally slept until 8:00 or so and then went downstairs for breakfast with my dad and to walk the dog. Then right back up to my room to hang out. My dad had helped me drag an old recliner upstairs which was my nest for gaming and TV and another important activity that you can guess. From my chair I could also look out the window and watch the neighborhood.

While I sat in my chair for an hour or two waiting for my dad to leave around 10:30, my dick would begin to call attention to itself. During the school term I regularly jacked off at bedtime, but with the daytime freedom of summer, things had changed. So I sat in my recliner watching movies, chording my guitar or playing games - and constantly aware of my dick very slowly growing and becoming just slightly more and more erect as time went by. I tried not to encourage a boner before my dad left because he might call me downstairs for something, or even come upstairs himself. But my dick knew what was going to happen, and after 24 hours since its previous round of exercise it began getting touchy on its own.

My typical outfit was baggy nylon basketball shorts, a big T-shirt and Nikes with no socks. Under the shorts were boxers. As things progressed and I could feel my dick continuing to slowly enlarge I would take the first step, releasing it through the fly in the boxers. That way I could give it a friendly touch with only the nylon shorts between fingers and peter. It would be partially erect and noticeably thicker as I pulled out of the fly. It lifted the material of my outer shorts into a horizontal bulge pointing off at an angle.

As I watched TV or played or strummed I gave my half-stiff prod occasional little touches to let it know that I hadn't forgotten it. If I happened to be farting with the guitar, the dick-touching worked into the rhythm of the chords and gave a sort of funny character to the riffs: Strum-two-three, Strum-two-three, Squeeze-squeeze-squeeze.

Gradually as my dick continued to enlarge I assisted it in finding a better position inside the shorts where it could grow longer and harder with no help from me. It would continue rising, elevating the nylon fabric, scraping along the underside of the material and bringing itself at last to stick stiffly upright in my lap. As the expansion of my erection continued, it made a tent in my shorts with a clearly visible peak, a point which I knew was dangerously obvious as I lay reclining in the chair. Just in case my dad came upstairs, I was ready at a moment's notice to bring the chair to a sitting position and pull my oversize shirt down across my lap. Meanwhile, from time to time while doing other things, I continued to touch myself to reassure my erection and let it know that I understood its condition and hadn't forgotten it. Just a quick squeeze or two around the top of the nylon pyramid. Or a quick slide with a ring of fingers, down and back up once
 or twice on the tent pole.

The last twenty or thirty minutes before my dad left were hell and seemed to drag into eternity. During that time I always got upset. It was unfair that he didn't leave earlier. If he would just go to work as soon as I got up, everything would be fine. But here I am, I would tell myself miserably, sweating out the minutes until he leaves, forced to keep my wonderfully erect penis hidden and my hand away from it when it's already fully prepared and begging for action. It had been getting hard for thirty or forty-five minutes or maybe an hour, hadn't it? That was torture and it was his fault. He was delaying my freedom. I could already be masturbating, already be jacking off, already be enjoying the best thing in my life. Why didn't they call him to come in early? If only he would get in the damn car and leave, just leave!

At last my dad would call goodbye, the door would shut, and I'd watch the car back down the driveway and head away from the house.

By then I had the mother of all teenage erections standing triumphantly inside my shorts, a dramatic vertical cone of nylon pointing upward above my groin. I had once measured my dick and believed that it was 6" long when fully erect, although that was an exaggeration at the tender age of 14. I gave it a few reassuring squeezes, then pulled the shirt up around my chest to get it out of the way and reached to the bookcase for some kleenex. Next I lifted my butt and slid the shorts down, lifting the waistband over the erection to reveal my straining penis.  I worked the boxers off of the boner and slid them down past my hips.

At last I could get busy with the important thing. The house was empty, entertainment was playing, sometimes I saw friends out on the street (but I had not yet discovered the secrets of intimate friendship - that would come later). And I was lying in my recliner with my crotch absolutely naked, no danger of discovery, no interruptions, alone at last, my eye glancing out the window ever so often just in case mom or dad arrived home unexpectedly. My hand was full of kleenex and my dick was fearsomely hard.

I'd been jacking since I was twelve and knew how to handle my penis when it was stiff. Sometimes my arousal was already so far along due to waiting that I knew everything was going to happen too fast on that particular day and that I'd get to enjoy only a very few light strokes until climaxing (damn my dad for not leaving sooner!). Usually, however, I could count on ten or fifteen minutes of pleasure if I didn't rush things. So I sat in my chair watching the street out front or maybe staring at a poster or a movie. My elbows resting conveniently on the arms of the recliner. And jacking. Jacking! At last jacking! Wonderful jacking! Not too fast. Not too vigorous. Just enough to keep the feelings stoked.

I might close my eyes and lean my head back in ecstasy while taking heavenly slow strokes with my whole hand. I might abandon the hand-grip and rub the tips of my fingers back and forth on my swollen urethra. I might jiggle my balls around or do something totally rad like stick my fantastic erection into one of the hollow plastic tubes from a construction set. I might form a circle with my thumb and index finger and work gently all in one location just beneath my dickhead. I often forced myself to take a break from touching it and let my pulsating dick get closer and closer without my help.

The bad news in all of this was that sooner or later I was going to reach a climax. I wanted to climax, of course - loved it - that was the whole point of the game. But the climax also meant the end of my heavenly private party, the best few minutes of my day, the time that I lived for, the wonderful blessing of masturbation. When it couldn't be delayed any longer I held the layers of kleenex in my left hand. At the very last second I formed the palm of that hand into a receiving cup lined with the kleenex and took the final few wonderful strokes as slowly and gently as possible, wiggling around in the chair as the act culminated, ultimately expelling my "seed" in burst after burst of incomparable adolescent male orgasm.

Then I lay still in my recliner, my naked penis slowly collapsing, my balls feeling strange, my hand full of soggy kleenex. "Shit," I would think. "It's already over. Already. And I've got a whole 24 hours to wait."

A perfectly ordinary chapter in the life of a 14-year-old, and yet in hindsight a remarkable time of uninterrupted bliss that I was privileged to repeat day after day that summer.

MD